


The Usual Tuesday with a Flu

by claudinedelyon



Series: Translator AU [4]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Martino's a grump when he's sick, POV Nico, Sickfic, Sometimes everything sucks, but at least they have each other, mostly comfort, translator AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudinedelyon/pseuds/claudinedelyon
Summary: Niccolò has never been under the impression that life was supposed to be all sunshine and roses, not even after he moved in with Martino. But even then, there are those weeks where the weather turns against you, work sucks, not to mention that Martino is sick and grumpy and having an even worse week than he is.





	The Usual Tuesday with a Flu

**Author's Note:**

> Title (almost) from “[Sunday with a Flu](https://youtu.be/-ql91xaHJUw)” by Yodelice.

Niccolò opens the door and steps inside, closing it swiftly behind him. The flat is only illuminated by the streetlights and the billboard that stands right in front of their kitchen window. He takes off his jacket and shivers. Warmth emanates from within the apartment, but the weather outside has been unseasonably cold and his bus took a different route, leaving him to walk home for longer than usual, so he feels frozen to the bone. Only silence greets him. Assuming that Martino must have been delayed at work or is making a pit stop somewhere, he walks into the main room towards the light switch, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to warm them up. He’s almost made it when somebody coughs right next to him, and he jumps.

“Fuck! You scared the shit out of me.”

In the semi-darkness, Martino is not much more than a figure on the couch, so he turns on the light. The unexpected brightness makes Martino recoil.

“What were you doing, lurking in the dark?”

“I wasn’t lurking. I was sitting.”

His voice sounds rough like he’s been coughing all day, which he probably has. He spent most of last night tossing and turning and trying to stifle coughs, so neither of them got a good night’s sleep. And it may only be Tuesday, but it feels like they’ve already done an entire week’s worth of work. Three separate projects are due the following week and not enough freelancers are available to share the load with Martino and Elia. In addition, Sana has been helping Gio with deliveries while Eva is on maternity leave, so part of her workload has been transferred to Niccolò. Filippo and Eleonora are trying to help to the best of their abilities, but they also have their own work to handle, not to mention that the flu has arrived early with the cold weather and is making its first victims throughout the company. Everybody is working too hard, and they barely had time to grab a bite together at lunch.

“You sound like you’re not doing better. Why were you sitting in the dark? Were you asleep? Did I wake you?”

“No, I wasn’t sleeping. I was just… I got back not long ago and I have a headache. That’s all.”

Niccolò frowns and takes a seat next to him. “Are you sure it’s just a cold?”

He rubs his hands together one more time before placing his knuckles over Martino’s forehead, who winces at the contact. Even in warmer weather, his hands are always cold, they always have been. His dad says it’s because poor circulation runs on his side of the family. Martino says it’s because he keeps all his warmth in his heart, so there’s nothing left for the rest of his body. However, Martino also likes to make him out to be the sappy one in their relationship, when really he's just as bad. The only difference is that one of them is sneakier about it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Martino grumbles.

“It’s not rocket science. And I think you’re burning up. Marti, that doesn’t look like a cold.”

“It’s not that bad. I’m just tired. You’re tired, too.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a fever and I don’t cough up my lungs every thirty seconds.” Martino tries to protest again, but is interrupted by another coughing fit, which effectively proves Niccolò’s point. “Maybe you should go lie down. You don’t look too good.”

“Thanks a lot. It’s been two years and the romance is already dead,” Martino tries to joke, even though he would be more convincing if he wasn’t leaning over to rest his head in his hands.

“Well, you’d be prettier if you went to see a doctor.”

“I can’t go to a doctor, there’s too much to do. Elia is on the project on renewable energies already, he can’t do microbiology as well.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll manage. You know Filo will work his magic and find something, okay? You’re not helping anyone if you make yourself too sick.”

Martino shakes his head stubbornly, so Niccolò decides it’s time to bring out the big guns.

“Eva could have the baby almost any day now. Do you want to burn out before then? You wouldn’t do that to your future goddaughter, would you?” Martino turns towards him with a frown, so Niccolò goes for the final blow. “You know, if you don’t get better, they won’t let you see her. Are you willing to take that risk?”

In answer, Martino squints suspiciously like he’s not quite sure if he should believe him. He’s been so excited at the idea of being a godfather, and Niccolò can see in his expression the moment when he decides it is not in fact worth the risk.

“Fine. I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

 

Another coughing fit which sounds even more painful than the last, makes Martino’s entire body shake. When he can finally catch his breath, he rests his cheek on his left hand and blinks slowly as if the effort had exhausted any strength he had left. Niccolò smooths down a strand of hair that is sticking up above his ear. He looks drawn and pale, but also dejected, and that can’t be just the flu.

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Instead of answering, Martino sits up and lies back down against the couch, putting both hands at the top of his head like he’s hoping to squeeze the headache away. “Marti?” Nico insists because sometimes, Martino still needs to be reminded he has to share what’s on his mind if he wants others to understand.

“You remember the project we translated into English for the University of Bologna's department of philosophy?”

Niccolò remembers a lot of complaining over endless and convoluted sentences about abstract concepts that had both Martino and Sana tearing at their hair for an entire month.

“Sure. The course about… Neoplatonism?”

“Yes, that one.”

“That was a while ago, did they ask for more? A course on Neo-Socratism or something?”

“No, and I don’t think that’s going to happen. They sent some feedback.”

“Oh.” The way he says the word “feedback” makes it pretty clear that the University of Bologna has not been showering them with praise. “It’s that bad?”

“They said it was ‘adequate’ for native English speakers. Which is stupid for so many reasons.”

“‘For native English speakers’?”

“Yes. That's why it’s stupid, they knew very well they weren’t being done by native English speakers and they still signed off on it. And we worked really hard on it even though the professor who taught the course was the worst.”

“Did they have native speakers look at your translations?”

“Not that I know of. The professor’s Danish, I’m pretty sure he’s the one who checked them.”

“Wait. A Danish professor thought your translations from Italian into English were just adequate?” Martino nods slowly and waves his hand as if to say “See what I mean?” "Wow. That’s something else.”

“And that’s not the worst. He sent his corrections.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah, they’re bullshit. It’s all nitpicking.”

It hasn’t even happened to him, but Niccolò suddenly feels ten times more exhausted. He lies down against the back of the couch as well. “Why do they have to be like that?”

With a shrug, Martino lets go of his head to rest his hands on his knees. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I miss the geologists.”

Niccolò laughs because every time a new geology project comes in, an almost audible moan of despair runs through the hallways. “That bad, really?”

“Yes. I don’t care about rocks, they can’t speak English and I don’t understand what they’re talking about, but at least they’re always very happy with our files.”

“That’s true.”

“Even if they’re lying, it’s still nice to hear.”

“Why would they be lying?”

Next to him, Martino wrinkles his nose, and Niccolò nudges his arm. “Of course they’re not lying. You’re very good. So is Elia. And don’t get me started on the proofers...” He adds with the hope of brightening the mood. The smile Martino gives him is only half-hearted. Nico sits up again and shuffles closer. “Marti, come on, you don’t believe them?” Martino rubs his eyes but doesn’t answer. “You just said that their feedback was bullshit,” Niccolò continues. He may not be able to do much about the cough or the fever, but he’s not letting Martino think he’s not good at what he does, no matter how much his entire being is crying for sleep.

“Maybe I’m wrong. They’d know better than me, I barely understood half the things they were talking about.”

“But Sana proofed it, right? You think she’d have let bad files slide? Sana?”

“She doesn’t know about philosophy either.”

“No, but her sister-in-law does, I’m sure she would have asked her if she had any doubt.” That gives Martino pause and his expression lights up slightly. “They even created a whole translation department around you. I think it’s safe to say that you’re not too bad.”

“That’s not really what happened.”

“Isn’t it? Because that’s how Filippo tells it.”

“He told you that story?”

“I think you underestimate how often he does. Sana had to leave the room because she’s heard it so often. You started off doing closed captioning, right? Like Luca and Silvia, before she left, and the others?”

“You still don’t know their names, do you?” Martino interrupts, which is pretty up there in terms of blatant attempts at changing the subject.

“They’re in a different hallway, we never see them. And you don’t know their names either. That’s not the point. They wouldn’t have been able to grow the translation department if they hadn’t thought you could handle it. If they kept getting more and more orders, it’s because the clients were happy with their files. And now look at where we are. Gio and Elia have a job thanks to you. I have a job thanks to you, and you know I really needed it back then. Basically, we met because you’re really good,” he concludes, leaning over to press a kiss on Martino’s cheek.

“That’s a stretch.”

“It is, though?” Despite the lukewarm answer, Martino’s face doesn’t look quite as closed off as before, so some of it must have gotten through to him. “And if you think you’re not great, you’ve clearly never seen some of the stuff we received at my old company.” Niccolò pretends to shiver. “I still have nightmares.”

The eye roll he receives in answer is accompanied by a smile, so things are looking up at least.

“Maybe. I guess this month just really sucks, and it’s been one thing piling up on another. I really want it to be over, but when I think about all the stuff we still have to do...”

“Then, don’t. Work is tomorrow’s problem and it won’t be yours. Today’s problem is how to get your fever down. And also that I'm pretty sure we're basically out of food. You’re the one who’s always saying to take things minute by minute.”

“Yeah, well, this minute sucks”, Martino replies snippily.

“Maybe, but it won’t last.”

“I’m pretty sure the next one’s gonna suck, too.”

Niccolò doesn’t have an answer to that. Or not an answer that would help the situation in any way. It shouldn't matter because he knows Martino doesn't mean them, but the words shot straight through his heart anyway. He looks away and inhales slowly, reminding himself that this is how Martino gets when he’s preoccupied or under the weather. Sometimes he will snap and immediately regret it, and even though it rarely happens anymore, the fever and the exhaustion are probably to blame. Sure enough, when he meets Martino’s eyes again, he finds him looking back with an expression that has softened into contrition.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s nothing but regret and sincerity in the words and Niccolò believes him. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Martino insists. “You’re trying to help, it’s not your fault. I know it’s not an excuse, but everything feels like shit, and I hate it.” He takes Nico’s hand. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should go lie down and just shut up.”

Niccolò squeezes his hand and gives him a smile. “Yeah, maybe.” Martino rubs his thumb over his knuckles back and forth a few times before standing up cautiously and heading towards the bedroom. "And take your temperature so I can say I told you so," Niccolò calls after him.

 

When Niccolò steps into the room with a steaming cup of tea, Martino having refused any food, he finds it in darkness. He can’t even tell at first if the lump under the covers is still awake or not. Leaving the door open to give himself some light, he makes his way around the bed to find that Pierre, the old grey cat, has emerged from whatever hiding place he has managed to find in the one-bedroom apartment. Martino watches with sleepy eyes as the cat stands in front of him and rubs his head against his arm. Even though he has been living with them since that first doctor’s appointment when a very overwhelmed Giovanni had learned about toxoplasmosis and begged them to take him for the duration of the pregnancy, he still hides every night for over an hour after they’ve come home from work. At least he picked the right moment to stop being shy.

“Look who finally made an appearance,” Martino points out in a raspy voice.

“See, even the cat thinks you should rest.” Niccolò puts down the mug on the bedside table, next to the thermometer. “So?” He asks with a nod in its direction.

“39.3. I think I’m sick.”

Niccolò manages to hold back the laugh, but not the sarcasm, because he’s only a human being and a tired one at that. “Really, what gave you that idea?”

“It’s not funny.”

“Maybe not right now, but give it a few days. I’ll tell Filo tomorrow, and you’ll go see a doctor?”

“Okay,” Martino sighs like he’s doing him a favor.

As Niccolò leans down to give him a kiss, Martino groans, “No, you’ll catch it.”

“I think I’ll risk it, come on.” Martino turns his head just enough for Niccolò to give him a light kiss and to trace the line of his jaw with his finger.

“Thank you,” Martino whispers, his eyes already half-closed.

“You are very welcome. Sleep tight.”

As he stands in the doorway, about to pull the door closed behind him, a mumble comes up from the bed that he doesn't make sense of right away.

“I still don’t even understand what a transposon is.”

“Nobody does, love, don’t worry about it.”

Having left the door ajar, he heaves a deep sigh before collapsing onto the sofa. A little voice in his head helpfully reminds him that there’s laundry to fold and dishes to put away, that the kitchen could use a sweeping and that his aunt is still waiting for an answer to her invitation. From the bedroom, he hears the soft pat of Pierre’s feet coming in his direction, then stop. There is a short meow, a brief silence, and a warm weight settles on his lap. The cat starts purring. Maybe the dishes can wait.


End file.
